


at your service

by futuredescending



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Smut, basically porn without plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7932709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuredescending/pseuds/futuredescending
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It was your fifth mission in as many weeks. I don’t like seeing you run yourself into the ground like this.”</p><p>“You don’t see me arguing with you there, but I ain’t got much of a choice right now.”</p><p>“I know,” Harry says with something very close to resignation. “Which is why today is going to be a day for utmost care.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	at your service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnaofAza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/gifts).



> Shameless smut & fluff. Smuff?

By the time Eggsy stumbles through the front door, he’s been awake for over 72 hours and he’s long since surpassed the point of shattered and rounded back onto some zombified form of alertness. His skin feels itchy and stretched too tight over his body. Reality has started to lose its sharp edges. It’s probably a bad sign when he’s seeing halos of light around everything.

He wants to shower away all the grime on his skin, stuff his face full of anything edible, and sleep for at least a week. At this point, he’s not even too picky about the order. He’d do them all at once if he could.

Sleep wins out by virtue of a flat surface being closer to him than either the fridge or the tub. He doesn’t even make it up the stairs. He just tries not to step on an over-excited JB prancing about his feet as he staggers over to the sofa and practically faceplants into it, not even able to bring himself to care about a) his already wrinkled suit and how it’s in dire need of cleaning b) how genuinely uncomfortable the sofa is to sleep on for any length of time and c) JB hopping up onto him and deciding the best possible place to sleep on the plank of his body is on his head.

He doesn’t know how long he passed out for, but it must have been impressive in terms of both breadth and depth because when he finally stirs from hibernation, it’s to an afternoon sun brightly illuminating the bedroom and he’s in his blissfully comfortable bed, warmly buried beneath layers of blankets and not a stout, furry body. Definitely no longer still wearing his suit either.

Eggsy slowly blinks and turns his head but the other side of the bed is empty and already neatly made up. Of course.

He about to drift back off again when he hears the door open, followed by the sound of JB’s jangling collar and his little nails clicking across the floorboards, followed by softer if heavier feet.

“Mmmrph,” is all he has to say to that.

“Ah, he awakens.” 

It’s been ages since Eggsy’s properly heard the deep liquid notes of Harry’s voice, much less seen the man, that his eyes fly open despite how heavy his lids are to thirstily drink in Harry’s presence right at the foot of the bed. Cardigan today, a deliciously slim-fitting slate grey one that makes Harry look like a sexy intellectual. Hair neatly combed but no pomade. Glasses peeking out of his front pocket. Must be a day off. Eggsy mouth turns up in a sleepy smile. “Did you carry me to bed?”

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you waking up with your back bent out of shape from having slept on that thing.”

“And changed my clothes?”

Harry arches a brow. “Are you not more comfortable?”

“Mmm, loads.” Eggsy yawns so wide his jaw cracks then unfurls his limbs as far as they will go to get in a satisfying stretch even if it means messing up Harry’s side. “So why don’t you come over here and greet me properly?”

Harry feigns a put-upon expression and takes his time in working his way up by Eggsy’s head, but by the time he’s perched himself on the edge of the mattress and leaning over Eggsy, he’s smiling fondly down at him. “I’m so glad you’re home, darling. I missed you very much.”

The only thing that makes it more perfect is Harry closing the distance between their mouths to press a kiss upon his lips that Eggsy happily sighs into, opening his mouth further to turn it more heated. In fact, he has a mind to lure Harry into bed with him, but Harry’s already pulling back again before Eggsy can make with the grabby hands. “It was your fifth mission in as many weeks. I don’t like seeing you run yourself into the ground like this.”

Eggsy drops his bereft arms. “You don’t see me arguing with you there, but I ain’t got much of a choice right now.”

“I know,” Harry says with something very close to resignation. Eggsy hates that defeated slope to his shoulders, wants to promise the whole damn world to never have to see it again. “Which is why today is going to be a day for utmost care.”

“Yeah?” That sounds promising. Eggsy waggles his brows. “What you got in mind?”

“First,” Harry says primly. “Breakfast.” And before Eggsy can start complaining that he thinks he’d rather just spend a few more hours napping or, preferably, shagging, Harry has already stood up and retrieved a raised tray that Eggsy hadn’t noticed was on the dresser when he woke up.

It’s a full fry up and it smells so fucking fantastic and heart-clogging that Eggsy’s stomach emits a loud, mortifying gurgle.

When Harry looks at him pointedly, Eggsy sheepishly admits, “Yeah, alright. Might be a bit peckish.” He budges up into a sitting position and stares down at the set up. There’s even fresh tea served up in one of Harry’s fussy teapots. It all unexpectedly touches him with how thoughtful it is. No one has ever served him bloody breakfast in bed before. He actually chokes up a little, croaking out, “This is really nice. Thank you.”

Fortunately, Harry doesn’t remark on whether his eyes may or may not be glistening. “Eat up, and by the time you’re finished, the bath should be ready,” Harry says as he moves towards the en suite.

“You really don’t have to,” Eggsy starts to protest.

“Let me take care of you,” Harry insists, “Just the once.”

The thought of being so doted upon makes Eggsy vaguely uncomfortable: he’s a healthy, able-bodied young man quite capable of drawing his own baths and scrounging for his own food. He’s been doing it ever since he heard the words _take care of your mother_ from a then-unknown besuited man all those years ago, and it’s one of the things he can look back on in his old life and still be proud of: he took care of not only himself, but his family too. Maybe it was in somewhat beg, borrow, and steal fashion, maybe not in the best ways possible, but certainly to the best of his abilities at the time. He would have rather eaten his own tongue than ask for help or handouts, and that reinforced bedrock of self-reliance isn’t so easy to loosen up now. 

But there is a look on Harry’s face that is hard to pin down. It’s love, of course, but also worry and maybe guilt and more than a little vulnerability. What Harry has to be guilty or worried over, Eggsy doesn’t know, but it’s enough for him to acquiesce. “Only if there’ll be bubbles.”

At last the spell is broken and Eggsy can practically see the dignity gene in Harry’s makeup recoil in horror. “Eat your breakfast, Eggsy.”

So Eggsy does and finds himself more ravenous than even previously thought and by the time he’s scraped the last bean off the plate and is sitting back utterly sated and lethargic, the rushing water in the bath has gone quiet. When Harry opens the door, Eggsy can feel the wall of steamy, sandalwood-scented heat hit his face.

Without a word, Harry takes the tray and sets it back down on the dresser before coaxing Eggsy out of bed like a disgruntled child reluctant to return to school come Monday morning. There was a time when the en suite was just as bizarrely decorated as the loo on the ground floor, except instead of butterflies, there were _moths_ , which somehow was a thousand times worse even without the addition of a taxidermy pet. Ridding them was one of the first things Eggsy had insisted upon moving in and he doesn’t even feel guilty for not being able to accept all of Harry’s eccentricities because _fucking moths_. That just wasn’t on.

As soon as Eggsy reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, Harry’s already there close behind him, pulling at the fabric for him so that all Eggsy can do is raise his arms and let him peel it off his body. When his bare skin is revealed, Harry leans down and kisses the curve of his shoulder right over the beginnings of a forming bruise where it’s extra tender. It makes Eggsy shiver, leaning back into Harry’s chest as Harry’s hand immediately finds purchase across his lower belly, fingers just skimming beneath the elastic band of his boxers.

“You could join me,” Eggsy says, turning his head and tipping his face up to catch Harry’s eye enticingly.

In response, Harry pushes his boxers down over his hips, using the opportunity take two firm handfuls of his arse before the fabric pools at his ankles and leaves him utterly exposed to Harry’s gleefully wandering hands. His cock begins to stir in interest because, quite frankly, a good breeze would do it at his age, but Harry rolling his nipples between his fingers, tweaking them into pebbled hardness, palms skimming down his sensitive flanks to his hip bones and down his thighs like he’s trying to map each point of interest doesn’t really hinder things either. 

Just when Eggsy is on the verge of saying fuck the bath and encouraging Harry to move on to strategic areas that are in more desperate need of attention, Harry withdraws his hands, leaving Eggsy to hiss out a frustrated breath through his clenched teeth. “That would defeat the whole purpose, I’m afraid.”

“God, you’re being so cruel. I thought this was suppose to be about caring for me.”

“That doesn’t mean one can’t enjoy one’s self.” There a note of smugness there. Eggsy would very much like to whinge a bit more, but Harry delivers a sharp smack to the sensitised skin of one arse cheek that makes Eggsy’s now fully hard cock twitch in unexpected interest. “Come on, in you get.”

“If only,” he mutters under his breath, but does what Harry says, slipping into the decadently hot water that immediately pulls a flush from his skin and sinks into his bones. No bubbles, of course, so he can see clear through to the bottom of the tub, including the fact that his cock still stands at insistent attention, which he dutifully ignores in favour of sitting back until almost all of him is fully submerged, letting his spine mould itself to the curve of the tub. The immersive warmth is a terrific soporific, tapering the edges of his arousal and luring him into closing his eyes and relaxing his body.

He feels and hears more than sees Harry dipping some sort of container into the bath and then trickling the water over his head, careful not to let any stream down his face. He practically moans when those talented hands begin to shampoo his hair, turning it more into a slow massage of his scalp. He thinks he gets why JB turns into a furry puddle of bliss with a good scritching session. By the time Harry is washing it out, gently tipping his head this way and that, he’s nearly boneless in the water. “Could get use to this,” he sighs.

“There’s nothing wrong with letting yourself be pampered once in awhile.”

“Wouldn’t know. Nobody’s ever offered before,” Eggsy admits.

Harry doesn’t respond so much as bring up a lathered up flannel to Eggsy’s neck that makes him open his eyes wide. “You gonna wash me too?”

“Will that be a problem?” Harry asks.

Given the sheer number of times Harry has made contact with his body in far less sanitary contexts, it really shouldn’t, but something about the way Harry sweeps the soapy flannel down his throat and sternum as he focuses so intently on Eggsy, clear in eye and mind without the hazy filter of lust that usually veils these moments, is unflinchingly intimate, like all Eggsy’s dirt and grime and defects are exposed to the light, and here Harry is, gently washing them away.

Eggsy does what he does best: he bluffs, opening himself up wider, knees knocking against the sides of the tub, hands gripping the rim as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Not at all. I think we’ve established that I like it when you put your hands on me.”

He never knows if Harry is ever fooled by shows like these because Harry doesn’t say either way, just carries on with what he’s doing, perfectly at ease with his shirt sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows, tenderly skimming down each of Eggsy’s arms like he were polishing his finest silver, always pausing at each cut and bruise, examining them before moving on when he’s assured they’re well on the path to healing.

Gradually, Eggsy feels himself relaxing for real beneath Harry’s eyes because looking up into Harry’s face is a wonder. There’s quiet awe and reverence there, a kind of softness that Eggsy knows is rarely allowed to show, and the fact that he gets to witness it so frequently bowls him over if he lets himself think about it for too long.

He also doesn’t shy away from any nook or cranny, lifting Eggsy’s arms to scrub at his pits, urging him forward to wash his back, lifting his foot out of the water to clean between each and every toe with enough firmness that Eggsy doesn’t twitch and accidentally kick him in the face.

When Harry’s circular sweeps eventually draw nearer to his cock that never really went soft this whole time, clothing running between his thighs, Harry’s knuckles brushing against his balls, Eggsy can’t help the way he slips lower into the water, hips tipping up, ankles rising to hook over the rim of the tub to afford him better access.

“Harry.” He doesn’t even recognise the low, throaty levels to which his voice has descended.

Harry’s eyes are so dark now, almost black with how wide his pupils are blown. Eggsy can’t look away from them, not even when he feels Harry’s long fingers mercifully circle around his achingly hard cock and give it a slow, firm stroke that makes his lips part in a soundless moan. Harry keeps stroking him, and Eggsy keeps watching his face, the determined line of his mouth, the way his gaze sears into Eggsy’s because neither will look away. The steady, rhythmic slosh of water underscoring Eggsy’s stuttered, escalating breaths become obscene in the otherwise quiet. His fingers pinch into the porcelain so hard that it hurts as the heat that surrounds him builds in his groin. He’s pushing up into Harry’s tight fist, trying to get more, the head of his cock breaking the surface of the water on each upstroke, until Harry’s other hand slides down into the water and a thick finger strokes over his hole, pushing in without so much as a by your leave.

“Oh, _shit_ —” Eggsy curses, instinctively clenching around the intrusion. Harry’s long finger keeps pressing in and unerringly finds his prostate, stroking ruthlessly up inside him that combined with the ceaseless friction on his cock, sends straight on into a climax that takes him by surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his come shooting a veritable arc through the air, landing in a pearly mass floating across the surface of the water over his chest.

A continuous whine rises from his throat as Harry slows the hand on his cock, but keeps up a steady motion inside him, seemingly determined to milk every last ounce of pleasurable sensation from his wrung out body until has to reach into the water to grab his wrist when it all becomes too much.

When Harry finally extricates his hand from Eggsy’s body, Eggsy feels like he could slide beneath the water and fall asleep. His limbs are heavy with an oxytocin-induced haze, skin singing, belly full, arsehole still clenching around the ghost of Harry’s finger. Through half-closed eyes, he watches Harry stand up and drain the tub, depleting his warm water bath at an alarming rate. He’s about to complain about being exposed to the sudden cold air washing over his skin, but Harry just holds out a big, fluffy towel for Eggsy to stand up and be enveloped by.

Eggsy remains pliant and sleepy as Harry pats and strokes him dry, happily snuggling into and inhaling the scent of the dressing gown—Harry’s own—that Harry then slips over his shoulders.

“I think I like this look on you,” Harry says, crowding Eggsy in close so he can pinch Eggsy’s jaw in his hand and tip his face up for a bone-melting kiss that Eggsy drunkenly leans into. It ends all too soon before Harry breaks away. “I think this is all you'll wear today.”

Eggsy arches a brow. “What? Just this? No clothes. Easier access so you can have me when you want me, wherever you want me, old man?”

“Quite so,” Harry agrees before he starts to walk them back into the bedroom, one hand toying with the sash of Eggsy’s gown.

They’re pressed so close, Eggsy can feel the hard line of Harry’s cock through the thin layers of clothing separating them, rubbing up against his hip. It never fails to give him a thrill, feeling evidence of how much Harry wants him. Eggsy can’t help but grab two handfuls of Harry’s cardigan to drag him down on top of him when the backs of his knees hit the bed, drawing Harry’s mouth to his, curling his legs possessively around Harry’s waist as he thrusts up against Harry’s hard cock and swallowing down the satisfactory groan that seeps past Harry’s lips.

“You’re incorrigible,” Harry breathes, but doesn’t stop grinding his erection back down against him, and, yeah, Eggsy’s own cock is already perking up in interest, rubbing up against the inside of Harry’s dressing gown where maybe Harry’s cock had once done the same and if that’s not half a pretty image right there Eggsy doesn’t know what is. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Yeah, come on,” Eggsy says between the moments his tongue isn’t licking into Harry’s mouth, “Come on. Get these off.” His hands slip down to the tug at the fly of Harry’s trousers, aiming to divest as efficiently as possible, but Harry, damn him, chooses to take these gestures as his cue to push himself up and away from Eggsy entirely, leaving him to practically whine, “I didn’t mean you, Harry, come back.”

“Turn over,” Harry says huskily and at least Eggsy can take solace in the knowledge his boyfriend isn’t completely an unfeeling robot.

Still. “Wha? Don’t you wanna—oof!”

His entreaty is abruptly cut off when Harry grabs his hips and physically flips him onto his front in such an effortless show of strength that knocks the breath from his lungs and isn’t more than a little hot. Before he can ask what Harry’s going to do, Harry rucks up the dressing down to the small of his back, leaving his arse full on display.

“Going straight for the goods, are we?” Yeah, Eggsy can get on board with this turn of events, even sliding his knees beneath him and giving his arse a bit of a shake just so he can look over his shoulder to catch Harry’s utterly exasperated look.

In response, Harry leans forward and actually imprints his teeth into one fleshy cheek, not nearly hard enough to break skin, but enough to force a yelp past his lips as the stinging sensation electrifies his nerve endings and takes his semi into full on standing-at-attention, and isn’t that a discovery maybe worth exploring sometime. Eggsy drops his head back between his shoulders and sighs as Harry soothes over the bite with his tongue, rubbing the underside of his cock against the bedspread in order to get some kind of friction going. “Christ, Harry, just come on and fuck me already.”

“So impatient,” Harry says against his skin, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs there.

The retort on his lips sees a swift death when he feels Harry’s hands parting his cheeks, but instead of the fully expected questing fingers pushing into him and stretching him open, he makes an embarrassingly startled cry from the hot, rough sweep of Harry’s tongue over his hole. “Oh fuck! _Harry_ , you gonna—”

“Get my breakfast too?” Harry finishes for him, and Eggsy can visualise the perfect eyebrow arch that accompanies the pearl-clutching question, doesn’t want to look over his shoulder to confirm it. It makes him his cheeks heat up at the very thought and he buries his face into his arms but can’t help the equally shocked wail as Harry dives back in, his tongue pushing past his tight entrance to lick right into him as deep as it can go.

The noises Harry makes, all saliva slick moans and wet slurps as he laves at Eggsy’s arsehole like he’s trying to taste him from the inside, is positively illicit, but no more rude than Eggsy’s continued elegant chanting of, “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ….”

He pushes back into Harry’s face, trying to get that pointed tip of his tongue even deeper as it strokes his inner walls, making him shake with almost overwhelming pleasure, and yet, not quite enough.

Eggsy almost weeps in relief when Harry’s fingers slip in next to his tongue, but then they push even deeper, curling up inside him to stroke his still tender prostate in small teasing circles that drive him absolutely mad. He tries to shift his hips, get more, but Harry just deftly moves with him, maintaining that too light touch.

He grits his teeth and tries to practically hump into the sheets, anything for a bit of friction now. “Harry.” He doesn’t even care if he’s full on whimpering now. “Please. _Please_. I need it. I need it.”

“What do you need, darling? Tell me.”

“You,” Eggsy babbles, “Touch me. I need you. I need it.”

“Can you come just like this, I wonder?” Harry muses, pressing more firmly into him to produce another groan.

“No,” Eggsy moans, shaking his head, torn between fucking himself on Harry’s fingers and trying to bury his aching cock into the mattress, dragging damp, sticky trails over the sheets. “I can’t. I need…I need more. Please, Harry, please. I need more, I need….”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Harry purrs, grabbing his hip to still his movements entirely, pinching at the bone hard enough to make him gasp. He can’t move, and Harry just drives his fingers into him more firmly, but not fast enough. Deprived of free movement, Eggsy does his best to simply grind onto him, trying to eek out as much surface area of this fingers as he can get.

“ _Harry_!” He doesn’t even caring if he’s a complete mess now, fisting the sheets, biting at his forearm to muffle the further wrecked noises that keep falling from his lips. He’s so hard it hurts. So hard, he’s trembling, balanced on that taut precipice. One good stroke should do it, just one. Harry just needs to reach around and touch him, let Eggsy fuck into his fist, and it would be so good. But he instinctively knows it won’t be allowed, that there will be no touching his cock, and that if he wants to come, he’s got to make do with what he’s been given and he just needs _that one thing_ , that one thing to push him over. Trying to find it, though, is like blindly throwing out his hands in the dark, it’s frustrating, no, it’s _infuriating_ , and short of cursing Harry out, he just sobs like a fucking baby.

“Shhh, it’s alright, darling,” Harry soothes, stroking him faster now, pressing in more firmly. “You can do it, Eggsy, you can come for me. Just let go.”

“I can’t. I can’t!’

“Yes, yes you can,” Harry insists, driving his fingers in sharply and, unexpectedly, delivering a sharper bite to his hip.

Eggsy cries out and jerks against him, the pain singing through his body, intermingling with the sensations shooting up from his groin and finds himself tumbling over the edge, shooting his load out all over the inside of Harry’s dressing gown while Harry continues to milk him. His second orgasm seems to last _forever_ , a new wave cresting from every movement of Harry’s fingers, until he’s practically numb from it, existing in some insensate post-climax fog that he thinks is still vaguely pleasurable.

“…o good. So good, Eggsy,” Harry murmurs while Eggsy tries to reclaim control over his body, starting, at least, with his initial senses.

Eggsy still can’t find the wherewithal to move, though his thighs are starting to burn and his hips are aching from his legs being spread so wide. When Harry shifts up and pulls Eggsy to him, he goes, limp as a doll, rolling onto his side as Harry curls an arm around him and presses himself all along Eggsy’s back, bare arse now cradled against Harry’s still cloth-covered erection.

“Will you…” Eggsy slurs, turning his head in an attempt to meet Harry’s eyes but abandoning the effort halfway through in favour of letting it loll against Harry’s shoulder.

There’s a rustle of fabric, he feels Harry’s hand working behind him, and then the press of something thick, blunt, and hot against his arse, making his sore hole clench in response.

“Just let me…” Harry sighs, shifting lower, dragging the sticky head of his cock over Eggsy’s hole and making him shiver, but Harry doesn’t try to press himself in, just lets his cock slide along his crack and in between his thighs in lazy glides. “Press your thighs together just a little more, darling.”

In response, Eggsy tries to clench his thighs so tightly he think he could produce diamonds if someone stuck a piece of coal between them, reaching behind him to grab hold of Harry’s hip, letting Harry’s fuck between his legs, cockhead battering at his balls. Sweat and pre-come ease away the last of the friction, and soon Harry’s thrusting into him in rough jerks, panting in his ear, his cock slick between the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs.

“God, Eggsy,” Harry groans, a soft rumble of vibration against Eggsy’s back and a lovely symphony buried into his neck, sliding his cock back to press against Eggsy’s hole in time to paint it with hot, wet spurts of his come. It’s filthy and has rather negating the effects of his bath and Eggsy absolutely loves it.

“See how nice it is to go off-script once in awhile,” Eggsy sighs, tipping his face up to brush his mouth across Harry’s brow.

“I’m starting to see some of its virtues,” Harry agrees, turning to meet Eggsy’s lips, possibly to keep him from further gloating.

 

_____

 

Harry was quite serious about this utmost care thing, because he doesn’t let Eggsy do anything more strenuous than lie out in the back garden (beneath an admittedly not so sunny sky), still wearing just a dressing gown (though it’s been switched out for his own, less soiled, one), with some bizarre cloth face mask thing that reminds Eggsy of that scene where Hannibal Lecter cuts off and wears a policeman’s face but which Harry patiently explains will help moisturise his skin (“The time to start a good skincare regimen is now, Eggsy.”).

He gets about twenty pages into his book before his eyelids start drooping and his body remembers that he’s still pretty fucking tired, and because he’s been given permission, or rather, _ordered_ , to do absolutely nothing for the day, he takes full advantage of that mandate to have himself a nice kip while he sort of distantly hears Harry puttering about cleaning or prepping food or shuttling JB back and forth as his bowels require, sometimes talking to someone who is probably Merlin or turning on Spotify to let music drift softly throughout the house.

The next thing he’s most clearly aware of is blinking awake, turning his head, and seeing Roxy laid out next to him, outfitted in a bizarrely pink-tinged dressing gown and wearing a face mask similar to his own. She looks sort of like a mummy, but he imagines he doesn’t look much better.

As if sensing eyes upon her, Roxy turns her head to meet his gaze.

“Harry?” he asks, though it’s not really a question.

“Harry,” she confirms. “He’s confiscated your glasses and phone. Wouldn’t let me back here unless I wore the _requisite uniform_. I’m starting to understand why Merlin sent me in his stead.”

Eggsy tries to imagine Merlin in a gown and mask instead of his ubiquitous jumper, but it’s like trying to imagine a cat without fur. It’s just inherently wrong and more than a little off-putting.

“And there’s to be no discussions about work today either!” Harry calls out to them from the kitchen.

Roxy sighs and it’s actually unsettling to see how much she is starting to resemble Merlin in her mannerisms. “But when you are allowed to discuss work, such as the next mission we’re both being assigned to in Prague in three days, Merlin told me to ask you to kindly join him for the kickoff meeting tomorrow morning at ten.”

“Is that yours?” He nods to the gown.

“What do you think?” Roxy glowers.

“I’ve no idea where that came from.”

Roxy pulls at one oversized sleeve for inspection. “Uneven tint. Looks like it got mixed up with some colours in the wash. Judging by the size and wear, I’d say Harry was in his twenties or younger when he made that error.”

“I dunno what’s more scary, when you use your freaky Sherlock powers or the thought that Harry’s held onto that thing for decades for no reason whatsoever other than that I suspect he may secretly be a hoarder.”

In unison they both glance back through the open doorway to the inside of the house where Harry is cuddling JB like a baby while pointing out and carefully explaining to him the various art he’s got on his walls.

“I can’t believe that one’s up for debate,” Roxy says. “I’m actually insulted right now.”

Eggsy bites his lip. “In my defence, he’s excellent in bed.”

“At the very least,” Roxy politely agrees before picking at the edges of her mask to start peeling it off. The sight is so disturbing, Eggsy has to look away until it’s done. “Speaking of bed, our covers are a young, married couple, so try not to eat so many raw red onions right before sticking your tongue down my throat this time, alright?”

“That was, like, one time!” Eggsy gives her a look of outrage. “We were being chased! It threw ‘em off the scent, didn’t it?”

“I’m going to draw you up a list of approved foods you can consume so this will never have to be an issue. In fact, it may do you some good to actually eat a vegetable.”

“Onions are vegetables,” he grumbles.

She seems very pleased with the softness of her skin though, and even kisses Eggsy on his masked cheek before chucking the pink gown at his face on her way out.

 

_____

 

Supper is, much to his delight, good old Chinese from their favourite restaurant, which they eat straight out of the cartons with chopsticks, foregoing both napkins and the table in favour of sitting well within each other’s space in front of the telly to catch the latest episode of _The Great British Bake Off_.

“How can a day of doing bloody fuck all leave me this knackered?” Eggsy asks the universe, except it’s only JB and Harry who answer, the former by emitting a sound somewhere between a snort and a sigh before curling himself into a ball in his little doggy bed, and the latter by setting aside his chopsticks, sinking to his knees before him, parting the edges of his gown, and swallowing down his cock, tip to root.

“ _God_ ,” Eggsy groans, dropping his head back while curling his fingers through Harry’s curling hair. He wasn’t even hard, didn’t think he could even get it up at all, but Harry’s wickedly talented MSG-coated tongue gets him there in approximately 0.5 seconds, happily drawing broad stripes up the underside of his cock and then doing unspeakable things with the head. “Ah, God, Harry.” He blearily looks over at JB who quirks his head in puzzlement. “Oh god, we can’t do this in front of JB! He’s an innocent!”

Harry pulls off him with a filthy slurp just to give him a severe look, though his reddened, swollen, spit-slick lips ruin the effect. “I can assure you, Eggsy, that if JB had any truly human awareness of what he was witnessing, he’d understand it to be a very natural loving act between two consenting adults.”

Eggsy eyes him sceptically. “Let me guess, you used to keep Mr Pickle in the bedroom til one of your prior bedmates made you move it.”

In retaliation, Harry takes him down until his nose is buried in Eggsy’s crotch and swallows around him, promptly blighting away all concerns and, in fact, any awareness outside of the cavern of Harry’s hot, wet mouth bobbing up and down on his cock in earnest and the way his fingers massaging his balls in counterpoint.

Eggsy finds himself sinking lower and lower on the sofa as he practically tries to climb inside Harry’s mouth cock first, only stopped from slipping off it completely by Harry’s firm grip on one hip. It really is a hideously uncomfortable piece of furniture. Of course Harry uses his newfound handhold, pressing his thumb into the divot below his hip bone right in the tender bruise he’d created earlier that morning, and there Eggsy goes again with his newly discovered kink, fuck. _Fuck_. “Fuck!”

When he comes in Harry’s mouth, it’s practically painful and just about saps him of the last of his will to stay awake much less coherent.

While he tries to calm his breathing, Harry, damn him, takes extra care to clean every last trace of come off his cock and then licks his lower lip and wipes at the pooling saliva at the corner of his mouth for good measure, somehow making the actions look sophisticated and weirdly prudish.

“God, I love you,” Eggsy declares, falling forward to kiss him and getting a good sampling of the taste of shrimp and his own bitter come for his efforts. He presses his forehead to Harry’s, dragging his fingers across Harry’s greying temples to cradle the back of his head. “Roxy thinks you’re the strangest bloke she’s ever known, but you’re my strange bloke and no one has ever cared for me like you do.”

“As it would happen, I’m rather partial to you as well,” Harry says fondly, reaching up to cup Eggsy’s face in turn, brown eyes so warm this close up that Eggsy can’t resist the urge to press a kiss to each lid. “Did I tell you I’m implementing a new policy? At least twenty-four hours of enforced rest after every assignment.”

Eggsy grins. “You just want to get in my pants, you filthy old man.”

“I just want you here, for as long as I can have you,” Harry says simply.

He needs a moment to swallow back the sudden fierce surge of affection. “I’m here,” he tells Harry. “I’m here.”


End file.
